


A Cup to Warm You

by TheEarlyKat



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: M/M, it's fenders if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-01 20:47:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5220269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheEarlyKat/pseuds/TheEarlyKat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris tries hot chocolate</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Cup to Warm You

The clanking of steel against steel followed Anders the long, winding way to his clinic in Darktown. The screeches and bangs echoed in the jagged paths of late-night Lowtown, effectively putting off any otherwise courageous bandits, and positively boomed in the crumbling tunnels of the Undercity. Anders felt the burn of tensed muscles in his arms, fingers tight around his stave and palms grinding into the wood as he passed it from hand to hands with each turn of a corner, ready for any that might dare to attack them. In the gloom of the evening, where shadows stretched far beneath the city even on the brightest of days, it was difficult to discern safety from danger, making it better to simply be on alert at all times. The obvious sound of a man at arms was like a beacon, and Anders wasn’t sure either of them was up for another fight. The fact that it was Fenris who followed might have done more to frustrate him than the grating sounds as well. 

The armor would have to be oiled if it was to ever be silent again. Not only were dents struck deep enough to rent and twist the plate into ill-fitting shapes, edges that once glided now striking against one another, but frost coated the warped metal as well. 

As winter approached, Sundermount grew less active of all trouble save the Tal-Vashoth and even they no longer dared to hide amongst the caves dug higher up the mountain. Snow covered the summit, but frost still crept down the mountain side and would eventually make its way to the edges of Kirkwall. The cold kept crime low, save the occasional Qunari vigilantes, but would begin to condense unrest to the city when temperatures dropped, and if Hawke and company were to limit injuries in the coming winter months, both they and their armor would need to be intact. And quiet. 

Anders winced as Fenris passed through the threshold to the clinic and paused a moment longer before sliding the door shut to catch any movement of followers. The rotting wood and rusting hinges complained less than the elf’s breastplate, and he took confidence in the thought that if no one had heard them tromp through the maze of uneven mine tunnels, they wouldn’t know of the pair inside the clinic and the hasty search of potions. 

“Everything off, now; I’ll need a good look at you before you can go back to Hightown,” he said, twitching slightly at the sound of glass vials clinking together. 

“No magic, mage,” Fenris grumbled, and even the steel in his voice was quieter than his armor, though no less grating. 

“I think getting you out of your clothes is one hell of a magic trick already,” Anders chuckled to himself. Fenris snorted behind him but the mage missed the quirk of his lips as he sorted through several potions. He gingerly picked one up, examined it, and selected another. 

The quiet was interrupted by another bout of sharp screeches as Fenris unbuckled himself from his armor. Despite the dents and scratches, Fenris took care in removing each piece and stacked it neatly on the ground beneath his feet. Anders had the belief the elf took more amusement in making noise than saving his armor from further damage, but the solid walls of the clinic and the meager protection of the doors that made up the clinic Anders put his life and love and belief in made it a much more bearable endeavor this time around. He gave Fenris a wide smile as he approached, the corners of his lips turned up in his own personal amusement. 

Fenris scowled and crossed his arms, and Anders’ smile returned to its tight-lipped frown. He slapped the elf’s hands away to examine his chest. A dark purple bruise spread across half his ribs, but after a bit of poking, and a bit more pokes when a muscle twitched and Fenris coughed to cover a laugh, no deeper damage was revealed and he continued on with the examination. Small, shallow lacerations covered the skin left bare between the joints in his thin plating and Anders took care of them swiftly with bandages or a press of elfroot into cuts that looked to be more susceptible to infection than others. One hamstring was pulled and a toe sprained, and Fenris only grumbled at the instruction to keep his leg elevated for the night. 

Anders pressed the vial into Fenris’ palm when he was finished. “This will help with aches in the morning. I’d advise you not to drink around the time you take it…” he trailed off, already expecting narrowed eyes, slowly unwrapping his hands from the elf’s until he found them shaking. He cocked an eyebrow, but Fenris remained silent. “Anything else?” Fenris merely shifted on his feet and the mage placed his hands on his hips. 

“It is…cold. Nothing more.”

Anders dropped his exasperated look to the floor to watch his bared feet scuff on the floor and huffed out a breath. “Cold, yes.” There hadn’t been any discoloration that he’d found during the examination to suggest frostbite, but the idea that the elf had incredulously escaped from it was almost laughable. Anders shook his head. “Do you plan on walking in the snow with your soles free for freezing?” 

“You have not condemned Merrill,” Fenris snapped. 

Anders shrugged. “I will when the event presents itself, but currently Merrill isn’t the one shaking in the middle of my clinic.” He ignored the scowl and returned to the table cluttered with potions and reached for a jar in the back. He was aware that neither of them would be happy to stay in the same area for much longer, and offering Fenris a blanket for the night would be wasted breath. Anders wasn’t sure he even had one clean enough for the elf’s taste. 

The jar was light in his hand and he pursed his lips, staring at it like he could conjure its usual contents as easily as a flicker of flame. No tea, then. A second jar sat besides it, just a few crumbles of its normal contents. He was loath to use it, but reluctantly traded the empty jar for the slightly less empty one before searching for a mug whole enough to hold water. Fenris watched him with slitted eyes and twice Anders snapped his head up at the unexpected flicker of the reflective gaze in the gloom. 

“I said no magic,” the elf growled, low and dangerous enough for Anders to feel static run up his spine that had nothing to do with the water that instantly filled the cup and the heat that warmed his palm from the inside out.

Anders waved his dimly glowing hand, flushed from the fire magic, with a weary smile. “It’s not going to be used on you. Just…for you.” He shook his head again when Fenris continued to stare and crumbled the rest of the jar’s items into the mug. A heavy, heady, scent wafted up and he swallowed hard. 

Hawke had gotten the jar the week after he’d returned from the Deep Roads, a thankful present and a sudden, impulse spending with his new found wealth. Anders almost hadn’t believed it – could barely comprehend that such a thing still existed and that he could even see it. After living in the sewers and watching those he helped beg for just the smallest crusts of bread, such wonders were impossible to even dream about. Yet, there it was, a whole jar.

Chocolate. 

Hawke most likely intended it for Anders’ use, but he never said a word when he spotted children scampering around the clinic with messy faces and fingers or elderly patients holding steaming cups with shaking fingers. The man only grinned and ended any protests by the mage by shoving another jar into his hands, as if maybe this time around the healer would allow himself the treasure. It never worked, but Anders liked having it nonetheless. It brought its own kind of magic to his clinic, one the patients he saw everyday needed desperately: a light in the dark and weary world they struggled in. 

He wouldn’t ask for more, of course, but he’d come to expect another wordless offer when it ran empty. Anders didn’t begin to let himself wonder what Hawke would do if he learned he was allowing Fenris a part of hits. It might even have been that Hawke gave the elf his own share, he mused, finally turning back to the other and holding out the mug.  
Fenris eyed it warily and Anders clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth impatiently. 

“I only warmed it up. Simple. No blood magic. Just take it.” Fenris’ eyes narrowed further and Anders had no idea how he managed to find the cup behind his lashes lowered like that. “It’ll warm you up.” 

At that, Fenris took it, tapping the side cautiously with a finger to test the heat before pulling it close to his chest and inhaling the steam. Eyes widened instantly at the sweetness and, if it wasn’t so dark in the crumbling building, Anders could have sworn he saw his ears twitch. “I…thank you, mage,” he ground out with an emphasis on the title as if to remind that, despite his efforts, he was still something to be wary of. Anders couldn’t stop the slight lift of his mouth. 

“You’re supposed to drink it. Holding it will just cool it.” Anders would have to heat it again and he wasn’t sure Fenris would allow another display of magic. But Fenris only nodded and lifted the mug to his mouth with a small bit of hesitation. 

“ _Fasta vass_.” The cup was yanked from yanked away from his mouth and another sharp curse echoed in the room when the scalding liquid burned his hand. “You are poisoning me!” 

Anders rubbed the back of his hand against his mouth before the smile could creep across his face when he watched Fenris swipe his swelling tongue against his upper teeth. “Try again. Slowly.” 

“I will drink of-”

“You’ll like it – believe me.” He raised a hand when the elf’s brows knotted together and Fenris glowered in silence. “Don’t ‘how am I to trust a mage’ me. Not right now. Go on. It’s most likely cooler now from your complaining.”

Fenris did, indeed, mutter about the truth of mages, but took another mouthful, carefully. The sweetness that came off the drink in the steam coated his tongue where it wasn’t burned and warmed his mouth. It was thick and heavy and slow to slide down his throat. It left a muted burning down his throat and settled, hot, in his stomach. He took another sip and closed his eyes. It was like nothing he’d experienced before, like a dying fire, still warm enough to give off a comforting heat, but in his stomach. It tasted like the sweets the slaves only could imagine tasted like decorating the plates of the magisters, tossed out instead of given like the other scraps left over from meals, never to be held by those deemed lesser than men. And he was _drinking_ it. 

Fenris made a soft noise in the back of his throat. If only Danarius could see him now, consuming the foods restricted to him. 

Anders watched him savor it and smirked at the tongue that swept to catch the missed droplet on his lower lip. His ears had definitely twitched this time, and the elf’s shoulders dropped as the hot drink worked to fight the chill gathering in his chest. 

“If this poison, I would gladly drink of it again.” 

“A shame I don’t have more,” Anders sighed, leaning back on the shelf and sliding the empty jar across the surface. “Chocolate in the right amounts could be lethal. Of course, one would have to drink their entire body weight in it before they’d even start feeling sick. I think just one drink is safe enough.” Something very near a pout flashed briefly across Fenris’ face but was gone before Anders could catch it. He shrugged. 

I am…thankful,” Fenris said after draining the last of the drink. 

Anders chuckled. “No mage this time?”

“This was not magic.” Anders gave him a nod. “I have had nothing of its like before. Perhaps I have seen it, but never myself been allowed to drink. It is…” Fenris licked his lips again. 

“Hawke...supplies it to me every so often. It keeps the children quiet for a bit while I tend to their parents. You could ask him for some yourself.” The elf glanced away and his thin fingers tapped against the sides of the mug. “Or…you could come down another time. It’s a fair walk for a drink, I know.” He broke off again with another lift of his shoulders. The elf seemed just as uncomfortable with the open offer as he was giving it. 

“I will think upon it,” was his only answer, and Anders was glad just to have one. He accepted the empty cup and added it to the growing collection of empty jars and potion vials, meaning to clean up and restock as soon as time allowed. With all of Hawke’s enthusiastic adventures still continuing, he wasn’t sure when that time would be. Perhaps he could sneak a larger portion of chocolate as compensation and hand it off to Fenris. It sounded like an easier idea than asking him to come to Darktown every time he wanted something warm. 

A clatter brought him out of his thoughts and he found Fenris collecting his armor, throwing his breastplate losing over his shoulder and slipping on his gauntlets. “Drink the potion. Remember, no drinking…much,” he added reluctantly, knowing full well that Fenris would so, healer’s instructions or not. 

“And if it is more of this?”

Anders waved it off. “I would suggest not burning your mouth with it again. I won’t be able to heal that with a potion.” Fenris’ eyes flashed in the night, almost as bright as his teeth when he smiled.


End file.
